Category: horses

Focus

It’s out of focus,
Felt and seen, but fuzzy
Around the edges.
Blurriness.

The colors are there and
Some shapes are vivid.
But the whole picture lacks
Exactness.

The wrong angle, the wrong
Set up, here and there,
Brought this image of
Uncertainty.

Light was given to the
Wrong place, darkness remained
Over what needed to be seen.
Invisibility.

A mistake, an image worth
Nothing. Just something to throw
Away, something to be
Forgotten.

A lesson missed, advice not
Taken. Pray, wait, and see.
Hope that it’s not just
Forsaken.

Fading

Rainbows fade,
Sunflowers wilt.
Their beauty
Only lasts
For a certain time.

The sun will rise,
Just to set.
The day ending
Whether you’re ready
Or not.

The young stallion,
Grows old and Arthritic,
In what seems like
One rotation around
The sun.

The heart breaks,
In an instant,
Without warning,
When the unexpected
Takes it’s firm hold.

Confidence,
Shakes and fails.
Causing doubts, disbelief,
That anything done or said
Will ever be correct.

Rainbows fade,
Sunflowers wilt.
Maybe to teach us
To enjoy what we have
While we have it.

Cidney’s Song

What makes a song
a song—
Something worth singing,
repeating—  
Worth sharing with others?

Sincerity.

He sings from within,
his eyes full of light,
When he sees,
When he hears,
His person, his place.

His melody holds strong,
His heart full of joy,
When he runs,
When he jumps,
His life, his love.

He writes the harmony,
His mind adjusting,
To his new role,
To his new lot,
His home, his forever.

What makes a song
a song—
Something worth singing,
Repeating—

Sincerity.
A story worth sharing.

Little Things

It’s the little things 
most don’t notice.

An ear, flicking
Listening,
To what you say.
Whether it’s voiced.
Or through movement.
Or not at all.

An eye, blinking, 
Thinking
Of what you want,
Warm and soft, full.
Or cold and distant.
Empty, unforgiven mistakes.

A muscle, twitching, 
Reacting,
To something small.
A reminder of how light,
How soft, sensitive,
You need to be.

A muzzle, blowing, 
Searching,
For anything you might give. 
Breathing into your palm, 
Or your ear. Putting you 
Back together. 

It’s the small pieces of 
Themselves. 
They so freely give,
To replace the pieces 
Of our own hearts 
That go missing. 

And it’s these little things, 
Most don’t notice. 

Maker

Imagine the carpenter
Hovering over plain, shapeless wood,
Running His finger tips over the surface,
Picturing the piece He’ll create.

Take a look at the artist,
His hand curled around His brush,
Selecting each color, pressing each stroke,
Treasuring the image on the canvas.

Be sure to watch the writer,
Chewing on the end of His pen,
Crafting the story, choosing each word,
Feeling the narrative as it unfolds.

Do your best to fathom,
How it looks when all of these combine,
Into one Master, Creator, Maker,
The God who doesn’t make mistakes.

Picture Him hovering over every piece and part,
Selecting each shape, each color with care,
Crafting every detail of every day,
Writing each moment, choosing each word.

Wrap your head around this truth,
And hold it deep inside your heart,
Even the pieces you don’t like,
Even the story lines you can’t understand,
Are still a part of His masterpiece.
Are still a part of His perfect plan.

Barn

It’s not much, but it’s everything.
The small, metal building.
It’s quiet, except for the soft
Chewing, and snorting—contentment
Saying more than noise ever could.

The world can’t reach her here,
No negativity, or questions,
No stress or doubt. It’s only
A place of peace, of dreams.
And unconditional love.

Life gets left behind, as soon
As her feet cross the threshold.
Her heart beats with purpose
In the place where hope can be held,
Even if everything else stands against it.

Truth

Spinning in circles, going nowhere fast.
Squinting, blinking, tearing up,
Trying to see through the dust.

Frustration building, tension growing,
Muscles rigid and tight.
Fighting yourself every step.

Sweat trickles down, a chill
Interrupts the heat of the moment,
Questions what the effort is for.

The sun blinds instead of enlightens.
The glare makes it impossible to see,
To think, to choose, to find, anything.

Feet grow tired, knees grow weak,
Minds fill with every fear and doubt,
Will I ever be right? Will I ever be enough?

But one slight shift, one change in perspective,
Can stop the spinning, can dry the tears,
Can lift our eyes and give us new vision.

A Hand reaches down, lifting our shuffling
Feet out of the trench we’ve created,
Clearing the dust from our head,

Silencing the thoughts of doubt,
Removing each tingle of fear,
Replacing each with a Voice filled
With nothing but pure truth.

Keep

And we’ll find a way to keep going,
Even if stop signs are in our way.
And we’ll find a way to keep loving,
Even if hate holds us at bay.
And we’ll find a way to keep believing,
Even if darkness is all we see.
And we’ll find a way to keep progressing,
Even if setbacks won’t set us free.
And we’ll find a way to keep on dreaming,
Even if it’s just one day at a time.
And we’ll find a way to keep achieving,
Even if we can’t find the perfect rhyme.

Old Friend

My oldest friend
Has never said a word to me,
But he’s the best speaker I know,
Once you’ve learned how to listen.

He’s heard every dream and heartache,
And caught every tear,
As it slid from my cheek and clung
To his coat, waiting to be absorbed.

He’s taught me more about dealing
With and living through pain,
Than anyone else could. Always
Making a lesson out of what he’s endured.

His heart is genuine, he holds no grudges.
Forgiving even those who cut him deep.
His soft muzzle nuzzling their palm,
Warm air blowing through their fingers.

He thinks he’s king, holding the herd in check.
Keeping an eye out for threats that exist,
And, for those that don’t.
But you can never be too safe.

He still runs and plays like a carefree colt,
Even though his muscles and joints tell the truth
Of the years that are catching up to him.
More days behind him than before.

Our time is shortened by each sunset,
Each passing season and star.
But for now, I’ll cling to his mane.
And listen to every word still unspoken,

Throwing in a few thoughts of my own,
Thanking him for everything he’s given.
Thanking him for everything he is and has been.